


Nothing is as it Seems

by dellastarr



Category: Mortal Instruments RPS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dellastarr/pseuds/dellastarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After interviews, Jamie and Robert go to the pub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing is as it Seems

“Big smile, really a show of teeth Without a care in a world of fear Lonely, you don’t know how I feel Praise God, Nothing is as it seems” Queens of the Stone Age; 2013

 

Nothing is As it Seems

Bowers was never serious.  He was as flighty as a fidgety cat or an energetic puppy.  Couldn’t be still, couldn’t find center.  That was what Robbie liked about him, truth be told.  He, himself, was as jittery as a caffeine addict before his first cup of the day, but put the two of them together and the energy between them was a tangible line of electricity generated solely from heat lightening.  In an interview, it made for a lively conversation.  The two of them could “save” any boring encounter, offering instead a glimpse into the mania that usually surrounded celebrity or unbridled youthfulness.  Yet, some interviewers didn’t know what to make of their antics.  They plowed on through with their own agenda of inane questioning, insisting that a serious answer to some triviality should ultimately yield a satisfying response.  But to Jamie, better to mess about and flirt and fidget, at least the sideshow was worth a look in his opinion.

Today was no different.  After last weekend at the n-teenth sci-fi convention with screaming teenage girls-- fans of Mortal Instruments-- it was good to have a scheduled interview.  The marketing  gurus were out to make Ashes more marketable to a wider audience.  Complete with pre-production interviews and next week an appearance on the ultimate nerd venue—The Nerdist.  Actually, Hardwick supported all things in the nerd universe.  Being a gamer, made it easy to talk to Hardick, Jonah, and Matt, besides whoever else might be on hand at the show or podcast.  Robbie had to admit that his accent would have to be altered for an American audience who had trouble understanding his normal speaking voice.  Pretentious Americans who want everyone to speak in that same unaccented bland “American” drawl.  Bowers gave him grief about it too, but advised instead, “fuck ‘em”.

Robbie could always pull the Damian Lewis card and point to his spot-on American accent so that movie goers had no idea that he **_wasn’t_** from Bumfuck Middle America, today he just laughed and said something unintelligible to the interviewer who went right on without acknowledgment.

Jamie started giggling and rocking.  “Classic!” 

The interviewer asked about accents or maybe about Brooklyn, Robbie wasn’t paying much attention.

“Where’s your educated British eloquence?”  Bowers teased Robbie.

“Just because I’m not a trained Shakespearean actor, doesn’t mean I can’t parrot your British intonation.”  He over-accented the emphasis at the end, making Jamie laugh even more before leaning his head onto Robbie’s shoulder. 

“Fie on thee brother,” Jamie’s lips brushed against his neck as he kissed him, reaching his leg across Robbie’s lap as he climbed on top. 

Was he a fool?  There was a camera and this was recorded.  “Fuck ‘em.”  Jamie whispered as he crossed over Robbie, who was laughing and looking around at the interviewer.  “See what I put up with?”

The interviewer smiled, but didn’t join in the mayhem.

Jamie continued across and deposited himself in the seat now to his left before announcing to the interviewer, “I’m not classically trained either.  We are just lads from the wrong side of the tracks.”  He grinned his characteristic smile, showing a mouthful of perfect teeth.

“Wanker,” he mused under his breath.

They both laughed, while the interviewer raised an elitist eyebrow to their shenanigans.

“Are we done here?”  Robbie jerked his chin to the next set of interviewees.  “I see Lily or someone waiting in the wings.  They’ll be more serious, I promise.”

“No, thank you both, this was… fun.” was all she said as she mumbled something to the cameraman.

“They’ll cut the last bit.  No one will know how much of a cunt you are.”  Robbie said as they gave back their mics and waved at the next victims awaiting interviews.

“You loved it,” Jamie said, rucking up Robbie’s shirt from the back, dragging his hand up his bare skin.  Robbie tried not to shudder, so he twisted away and sprinted ahead.

They left and went straight to the pub.

For the next few hours they drank, played darts, and became increasingly louder.  The pub, known for its ale on tap and raucous nightlife, ignored its frequent patrons.  No one in the pub seemed to recognize either their celebrity or their youth.  Both which suited them just fine.  Jamie, could be spotted from time to time, yet still wandered between notoriety and anonymity. 

As for Robbie, much of his work was relatively unknown, so he could go for a beer or a pizza without paparazzi or being molested by fans.  Jamie, on the other hand, was often approached by women, whether they knew he was famous or just one of those wankers that women gravitate towards, Robbie couldn’t be quite sure.  Not that he wouldn’t take up an offer by a beautiful woman if it came and stood in front of him.  Truth be known, he had more fun with his mates.  Kevie would come out with them on occasion, if his wife was in a generous mood.  Jamie had introduced him to Peter, who would tag along when he was in town. Robbie was generally a bit more wild than they collectively were, unless Jamie was at one of his gigs or just wound up.  Though Jamie always called Robbie the “partier”.  When they’d gone to Brazil on the press junket for Bones, Jamie gave him grief about everything from his drinking to his wardrobe. 

“You know, you should have played Magnus Bane.  You’d have given him a run for his money.  You can drink Godfrey under the table and you know you’re louder than me at a concert.  And don’t get me started about that jacket of yours!”

“I’ll have you know that women love that jacket!  It makes a statement.”

“Only because they want to borrow it.”

“With me in it,” Robbie mused.

“Did you want to get pizza?  I’m starving.”

“Does that mean you’re backing out of this dart game?  You know I’m going to win.  So, if you forfeit, fine.”

“Forfeit?  Seriously, you never win.  I was giving you an out. “

“If you beat me at darts, I’ll pay our tab and the pizza.”

“You’ll never win, we should leave now.  But when we do, lose this jacket too.” Jamie jerked his chin at Robbie’s jacket hanging over the back of one of the bar stools. 

“It’s designer—Dent de Man and I like it!  The perfect splash of color to bring out my eyes.  I’m fully capable of choosing bold fashion choices on my own.”

“Oh, capable, yes.” Jamie threw the dart. 

“I can’t help it that the Irish know how to party you lot under the table.  Oh, and by the way, Mr. Burberry, are you going to give me pointers?  Perhaps loan me that lovely shrimp-colored ensemble of yours?”

His tone was mocking and snip, but Jamie just laughed and ordered two more beers.

“Are we playing 01?” 

“Course, and I’ll put you into the ground, Bowers.”

“Or we could go clubbing.  I live round here, you could borrow some of my clothes.  Simple, elegant, black leather and white silk.”

“Shut it, Bowers and throw the dart.  I’m at 247, already, by the way.”

Robbie did know good clubs, but Jamie knew which pubs had better food, beer, and pretty women.  Though Jamie banned Robbie from wearing much of his “Magnus Bane” wardrobe, as he called it, when they went out.  “Jeans, t-shirt, shoes.  That’s all you need. ”

Socks, in Robbie’s estimation, were optional, even on the red carpet.  Robbie’s bare ankles could always make Jamie laugh.  He felt it was his duty to shake up their conventional sides, throw caution to the wind, and keep things light.  The lot of them would show up in suits and designer shoes and boots, while he saw himself as showing up in something that defied convention.  Besides he liked that his wardrobe always gave someone something to talk about.  Next time Jamie chided his fashion choices, he’d throw some of Jamie’s cheek back at him. 

Jamie’d introduced him to a few friends-- people from his band days, a few chums from school, and Robbie in turn had introduced him to some of his friends.  Yet these days it was mostly the two of them out hitting the pubs or the club scene.

Soon they’d be in the rhythm of filming.  They’d all signed on to do Ashes before the script had been written.  Though the controversy around that script had delayed filming now for five months.  After all the crazed fans hanging out around the studio in Toronto from their first filming, he’d rather they got it right.  Who knows what would happen if Harold or the rest of them were too far removed from those preconceived characters. 

Jamie’d taken on another project which Robbie needled him about as he threw for another 54 points.  “What if this gig interferes with the next one?”

“I already talked to Harold.  It’s fine.”

“You’re just a workaholic.”

“Hardly, but I would definitely take a good job, if it comes along.”

“Did you say,” Robbie teased, “if you can show your bum?”

Jamie laughed.  He wasn’t stupid, Robbie knew he liked his TMI character, Jase.   Though, Robbie was sure that secretly Jamie cared more about getting to play the darker, seedier side of Jace or perhaps finally getting to do the love scenes with Lily.  That was the good stuff in acting… being mad as a hatter, the tortured soul, or the gorgeous sex object. 

“What the fuck?”  Robbie punched him in the ribs.  “Get out of your head, dude!”

“Dude?  You working on your American “Simon” accent again?”

“Sure why not?”  he answered in a nondescript American accent.

“Thought you were going for the Brooklyn boy?”

“Yeah, I gotta work on that, but I didn’t do a Brooklyn accent in the first one, so I think I’ll keep up the generic yank accent.”

“Did you say ‘yank’ or ‘wank’?”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up.”

Jamie laughed and hugged Robbie to him, locking his neck in his arms.   “You love me, admit it.”  And then he kissed him.

Robbie tensed beneath his fingers, then leaned into the kiss, prolonging it. 

Jamie released and pulled Robbie back.  They looked silently at each other for a moment, longer than they should have.  “Hungry?”  was all Jamie said to him, not yet releasing the back of Robbie’s head.

“Sure.”  Robbie answered, moving his hand to Jamie’s lap and tucking it in between his legs.

Jamie let go and hopped off the bar stool, heading for the door, not turning to see whether Robbie followed.

On the street, nightlife was starting to mill around the entrances, music drifting in and out of this or that doorway. 

Jamie led the way.  Robbie followed.

When Jamie headed down the alley, he stopped in the first patch of darkness to wait for Robbie who caught him up a few moments later.

Jamie turned and caught Robbie up in an embrace, forcing him back against the brick wall.  His hands gripping his wrists, stretching them above his head as Jamie leaned into him, an edge of skin peeking from his abdomen and grazing his own exposed  bare skin.

Robbie’s hands relaxed, then explored.  First he had grabbed handfuls of Jamie’s shirt, pulling him closer into him.  He wrapped a leg territorially around one of Jamie’s legs, collapsing against him.  He could feel how hard Jamie was.  He wanted to run his hand between Jamie’s thighs to cup his cock in his hand, but he wanted Jamie to crush him against the wall first.  Feel his tongue tracing his neck, feel the curve of his body aligning himself beneath him.  First things first.  He wanted skin, cock, and a rush of hurried impatience. 

Jamie pinned him and reached down, pulling at clothing. “Here?”  his ragged breath in his ear?

Robbie knew that he should say something, but all he could do was pull him into another kiss. 

Jamie turned him towards the wall, while Robbie braced his palms against the surface and when Jamie entered him, he was painfully pinned to the cold rough wall, wishing only he could face Jamie.  But each thrust sent a wave of longing crashing through his body, which was a palpable substitute. 

As Jamie finished, he fell against him.  Robbie could feel the soft brush of Jamie’s hair against his neck and the weight of him pressing him against the brick.  Jamie’s rapid breathing slowed and he pulled back.

Robbie didn’t want him to withdraw.  He turned slowly to face him, yanking up his clothes. 

Jamie watched and waited.

Robbie wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right.  He searched the ambient city light to see more than a reflective flash in Jamie’s eyes.  He reached out a hand and caught one of Jamie’s wrists, bringing it to his lips, kissing each finger before turning over the palm and kissing the center, lingering on the steady pulse of his wrist beating softly at his lips. 

Jamie was facing him and Robbie looked up to see him, pulling at him, tugging him closer before they left the alley hand in hand for somewhere that served deep dish pizza and perhaps a dart board to finish their game.


End file.
